


Forgive

by sasha_b



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-20
Updated: 2011-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-26 07:45:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anniversaries bring thoughts that Charles may not want to have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgive

The sight of the grey marble forces a quiver from Charles’ gut.

The sky is equally grey; appropriate, he thinks, and the knees of his smart corduroy trousers are immediately dampened as he kneels at the base of the headstone, a bit to the side, because he can’t just crouch right there, on top of it. That would be strange.

Not much more strange than this already is, but he’s not without his politeness. He wasn’t raised that way.

Rain drips from the lead clouds that scud slowly forward over his head; the wind is low and the humidity high and Charles sets the flowers that he’s been carrying down at the foot of the headstone that states only two things – his mother’s name and the dates of her life.

Two sentences, all that’s left. All that’s left of the life she lead, the memories Charles has of her reduced to the lines etched in stone in front of his dry eyes.

 _Who are you?_

 _My mother hasn’t set foot in this kitchen in years._

Raven’s biggest mistake. And Charles finds himself wishing again that Raven had been able to know his mother before trying to imitate her, because the version she’d given him had taken his heart in the two minutes Raven had been _her_ and had shown him more kindness than his real mother had in twelve years.

He swallows but keeps his lips pressed together. Pathetic. Look at what he is now, what he’s become, with no help from his parents, no help from his mother, who is now reduced to two lines on a marble headstone.

“What would you think now?” he murmurs aloud, still kneeling, pants getting wetter as the rain intensifies. “Would you still be mortified at your son the freak?” He allows himself a lick of his dry lips, the only concession to emotion. Charles’ brain is his playground, and he’ll be damned if he lets anyone (least of all her) knock his toys down. He built this slide, he controls the swings and the merry go round, not her. Not anymore.

And yet, she’s dead, and he can’t help but feel a bit of … he did love her, after all.

Charles feels Erik walking up behind him before he sees the other man (of course) but does not rise or turn. He closes his eyes, touches the headstone and sends one peaceful thought to wherever his mother might be now. He has no reason to carry animosity beyond the grave. Not now, not when there’s so much to accomplish and do and by God but Charles Xavier is a mutant, and yes, he’s proud. He can do things no one else can and he can do them for the greater good and he can save distraught, abused children and make them into something they can be proud of too, and into someone they each can live with.

No matter the hate and prejudice they’ve had to fight against their entire lives. It’s his last promise to her, he realizes – to take that fear and loathing and lack of love and allow his own experience be a way to help others become someone too.

Through a lifetime of struggling and pain (the thought sideswipes him) and he stands and shoves the memories away. He’s done with this for another year, and he wipes his face when Erik takes a few steps to join him in staring at the headstone. Charles threads a hand through his wet hair (rain, hard, always on this day) and wipes at his eyes one more time, tears burning his skin.

“You’re a better man for it, Charles.”

“Yes,” he answers, still watching the marble. Erik’s arm next to his is warm, even through the wet wool they both wear. “I always will be.”

He doesn’t stop to think _at the expense of what._

He leans over and positions the flowers just so, and rises and he and Erik walk through the acres that belong to the Marko family (Xavier family, now) back toward the mansion, where the children they’ve collected together wait for him and his wisdom.

He stumbles once as they’re walking, a sob catching in his throat, but he keeps going, and if Erik’s hand on the back of his neck is the only thing that keeps him from breaking down, he doesn’t say.


End file.
